To Win the Heart of a Rebel
by SeekJustice
Summary: Duo and Quatre are Catholic members of the Irish Republican Army. Heero and Trowa are Protestants in the British Forces and UDA. When their weapons are aimed at each other, who falls for who and who pulls the trigger? SLASH
1. Prologue

To Win the Heart of a Rebel

Prologue:

**Two Weeks Earlier**

Quatre walked the cold halls of the orphanage, slowly making his way to the board room. Under normal circumstances he would have tears running down his face from the news he was entrusted to deliver. As he travelled through the passageways he had grown up as an orphan in, he reminisced about his childhood. Within those very walls he had been protected from the outside world, loved by the Sister Helen and Father Maxwell and then grew to be a man. He had chased his best friends through those hallways, one of them always searching for more mischief.

Now however, it was with a heavy heart that he maintained a slow pace to the boardroom. As he turned the corner, the bright light of the fireplace threw light and heat throughout the room. The study contained a modest wooden desk and table, with four chairs that were currently being occupied by soldiers. Father Maxwell had converted this room from the orphanage's official records to an official headquarters for the regional branch of the Irish Republican Army. This room housed papers, battle, escape, bombing, riot and strike plans for the entire county of Armagh. The importance of secrecies in this war between the British Army and the Irish Republican Army was top priority.

Quatre listened to the hum of voices inside as the occupants discussed the issues of the day. That issue being the news that a British bomb squad unit from an engineering division of the military had been moved into the county. That would mean that any future bombing attempts must be exceptionally well planned and executed. Or else the bomb squad could get the chance of disarming it before the bomb had a chance to detonate. Then they could turn over the decommissioned parts to intelligence and they could trace the materials back to this region.

Quatre was startled out of his thoughts by the pattering feet of four small children racing around the corner. They whooped and hollered until they were out of site, and brought the occupants of the room a chuckle. Even Quatre couldn't help but smile. This building was still the Maxwell Orphanage as well as the regional headquarters for the main reason that Father Maxwell and Sister Helen would, under no circumstances, give it up. Also, it provided a good, if not the best front for secrecy. No one expects members of the clergy to be involved in any type of warfare. Especially not the guerilla style they were forced to use against the British occupation of the six counties of Northern Ireland.

Quatre took a deep breath, reviewing the message in his head. He cleared his throat and pulled all the courage he could muster. He was a soldier now, and couldn't choose when he was allowed to break down, and this was definitely not the time.

He rounded the corner and all the occupants of the room snapped up at his entrance. Quatre could feel a mild nausea coming on, so he took a moment, cleared his throat again, and then spoke.

"Solo Maxwell was charged with high treason against the Crown for the attempted thievery of Her Majesty the Queen's weapons in a military depot yesterday afternoon." His voice was strained and his blue eyes threatened to spill over.

Here he searched for one face in particular. A long-haired young man stood frozen, poised with one hand over a map that was laid out over the table. Duo looked alarmed, as well he should be. His normal cherub face was one of cheer, even when times had gotten tough at the orphanage, and then even when the war became more focussed in this area. Now it was pale.

The papers were not being shuffled around anymore. It was like people were frozen in time.

Quatre continued.

"Solo Maxwell is to be shot to death by firing squad tomorrow at noon-consecutive with the firing of the noon gun. The execution will take place with the three other captured Irish Republican Army members."

At this point in the message he turned to Father Maxwell, ignoring the pained look in his eyes and said, "Is there a responding message?"

The room was dead quiet.

Quatre wished he could be dismissed so he could finally grieve for his childhood friend.

Finally Father Maxwell spoke, "That's fine Quatre, there is no return message."

Duo slammed both fists into the table in front of him and cursed out loud. He spun around in a fury of motion, throwing open a wooden crate that was slid up against the wall. Duo's face was grim as he selected firearms and materials for explosives.

When he was finished he stood tall and dared anyone in the room to protest his actions.

No one did.

When Duo Maxwell passed Quatre in the doorway he kissed his cheek chastely and growled loud enough for the entire room to hear, "You tell them we're coming for them," and he disappeared down the hallway.

Sometimes Quatre hated to be a messenger in the IRA.

Heero Yuy stared mutely out the window of the cell he was sitting in. Being both the main prison coordinator in the jail, as well as a major field agent in the British Army, Heero had many different talents.

Taking shit was not one of them.

He was sitting in a chair on the opposite side of an eight by eight foot cell as a traitor. He was here to make sure the man knew how the events that afternoon would transpire.

Ever since he'd sat down, the man had not stopped his cursing of the Union, of the British population and of the Queen herself. Now that was a hard one to let pass. Also he insisted adamantly that he be treated as an Irish prisoner of war, and not a British subject guilty of treason.

Heero had interrupted the man only once to say that the priest would be here at the eleventh hour, to take his confession and that the guards would come for him at ten minutes to noon.

The man had no fear it seemed, and even as Heero left the cell he wondered what was going through his mind, knowing he only had two hours left to live. Unfortunately for Heero there had been a warning from the intelligence unit that there could be a possible uprising one county to the north as a result of this execution. Three of the four prisoners were born and raised in those counties.

He decided to occupy himself with making rounds to the guards on the gate of the base, ensuring that everything would go smoothly. When that was done he signed out the keys to the rifle room and checked over all the rifles needed for the execution at noon.

At 11:45 the artillerymen gathered their equipment and proceeded to ready the noon gun for its routine and traditional firing of black powder. It was just a way to tell everyone that it was twelve o'clock, but it was hardly necessary for the time period. Heero handed out the rifles one by one to the squad of ten men. He had already loaded four of them, and handed them out randomly so the riflemen would not know who actually shot the prisoners.

As the four men were brought outside to the courtyard at exactly eight minutes to the hour, Heero watched as the guards tied their hands to the posts. It was a clear day and both the firing squad and prisoners were solemn in attitude.

When everyone was in place, Heero stepped out to his place beside the firing squad and pulled out his revolver.

"Does anyone have any last words?" Heero's unwavering voice carried strong across the courtyard.

It was a traditional custom to ask if the party being executed wished to get something off their chest before their deaths.

Three of the men just closed their eyes and looked at the ground, as many normally do. The fourth, however, he watched the squad.

Heero looked at his watch and found that it was two minutes to the top of the hour.

"Ready."

The wood of the rifles and slings snapped as the soldiers preformed their drill perfectly.

"Aim."

The rifles were brought up to their shoulders and each soldier had a specific target.

And the fourth man, Prisoner Maxwell, said clearly to them all, "God damn your Union Jack and long live the Republic!"

"Fire!"

All four men dropped to the ground as far as they could go before the binds pulled taught. Heero rushed to them, checking to see if anyone was still alive. He carried the revolver for that specific purpose, to ensure the execution went as clean and quickly as possible. Had one of the riflemen missed, the prisoner could be dispatched easily.

None were alive, so Heero turned the bodies over to the burial squad and went to gather the rifles and dismiss the squad. He had a mountain of paperwork to do as well.

Even as he walked away he figured that he couldn't possibly forget that prisoner and his loyalty to his cause. The priest that had been witness to the execution now took over the site as well, giving last rites to the fallen soldiers.


	2. Chapter 1

To Win the Heart of a Rebel

Chapter One:

It was October the 19th, 1972.

It was exactly two weeks to the day that Solo had been killed and the headquarters was in a fury dealing not only with the might of the entire British Empire but a new faction that rose up called the Ulster Defense Association, or the UDA. This was a major setback for the IRA, as they had new enemies to face in towns where the soldiers now knew the terrain. It wasn't just foreign British soldiers come over to fight, these people actually knew where to fight and how to go about doing it. They were just as organized as their own army.

The plans for an organized Catholic funeral for Solo were still in progress. His body had been buried in a random field close to where he had been kept prisoner, so the procession would only be a ceremonial affair. Some were worried that this procession could be targeted by members of the UDA.

Duo Maxwell hadn't been seen since the day before his brother's execution. Quatre worried night and day about him, but could only go on with his missions to keep himself occupied. There had been a fury of consecutive bombings in Dublin in the last fourteen days and everyone speculated that it could be Duo, but no one dared say it out loud.

Quatre Winner found himself promoted from messenger to field soldier. His missions included setting bombs in specific areas and the targeting of certain military or political officials. The army had been reluctant to use him for real field work such as this because of his size, but they found that he could run faster and maneuver more swiftly than a regular British ground soldier. He was standing in an unoccupied room of the orphanage, pulling gloves over his hands and performing last minute checks on his gear. The minutest detail could be the death of you.

His blond hair was a striking contrast to his black garments so he pulled a black full faced cotton mask over his head. Picking up his rifle, he wouldn't load it until he was outside of the orphanage, Father Maxwell's standing order. He would not be using that weapon unless he was discovered anyway. His revolver was loaded and ready to go and Quatre had his target and mission parameters set.

He snuck out the back exit of the orphanage, only stopping to quickly load the small five round clip into his rifle.

Then he disappeared into the night.

The leaves were changing and it was slowly growing colder. It would be a busy autumn season for the IRA. Snow for the army meant that it was more difficult to complete assigned missions and cover your tracks. Many bombings were planned, weapons depots were waiting to be raided and even a public riot was scheduled in Dublin. That protest would likely be more peaceful then the one held for the fallen four, just six days ago in Belfast. Quatre had marched personally in that one, in honour of his childhood friend. Many civilians had been shot at by riot police with rubber bullets-and Quatre still sported a smart red mark on his chest from one.

Quatre shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. It was cold enough that every time he inhaled his lungs felt like ice even with the fast pace he kept. His body moved past trees, under brush and tried to keep his steps as silent as possible. It was highly unlikely that anyone would be in this section of the woods, but with the numbers of British pouring into the county you could never be too careful.

His steps crunched in the night, no matter how hard he tried to tread lightly. The fallen leaves were crackling beneath his feet. He preferred it still to the snow that was eventually to come.

He bypassed fields even in the cover of darkness, hoping that his careful actions paid off. The fields were in a state of mud and decay, the harvest finishing early this year.

The snap of a twig caught Quatre's attention.

He stopped mid-stride and listened to the sounds around him. All he could hear now was the blowing wind rustling what leaves that were on the trees. He crouched low, not wanting to chance an early confrontation. He silently checked his rifle, the cold of the wood and steel seeping through his gloves. He grimaced when the snap of the safety clicking off was louder than he'd anticipated. And then he waited.

He could hear an owl call.

And then a crunching sound, soft but unmistakable footsteps. Quatre stayed low in the cover of a branch, but in a crouch so he would be able to leap up fast for a challenge. As the footsteps neared Quatre's his grip on his weapon tightened, hopeful that he would not have to use it.

Then he heard a young voice call out in the quiet.

"IRA?"

Quatre licked his dry lips, knowing he had been spotted. What he didn't know was if it was by the British or the UDA. He didn't think the accent was foreign, but that it belonged to an Irishman. Unfortunately it could very well be a loyalist Irish member of the UDA.

To his dismay he could hear more people trudging through the brush, not as quiet as the first. They stopped when they reached their scout.

"Oye, you deaf? I asked if you were IRA."

He could hear the others start to talk amongst themselves while they waited.

"One gunman must be either IRA or UDA. God knows those Brits don't leave the town without an entire battalion plus air support."

Quatre's knees were starting to hurt.

"Alright. If you don't come out, we're gonna have to come over there and get you."

Quatre estimated that there were around eight men, and realized that he had a higher chance of survival if he surrendered now.

Quatre stood slowly, holding the rifle upright in his right hand and kept his fingers off the trigger guard. His left hand was open flat, signifying that he wasn't going to do attempt anything.

He stepped out of his useless hiding spot and crossed a path through the trees to the men. There were seven all dressed in green and black, holding semi-automatic weapons, muzzles pointed in his general direction.

"Put your rifle down and take off that mask."

Quatre laid his rifle on the ground and removed the cotton mask covering his face.

"Well! If it isn't the young Winner boy from the old Maxwell's church!"

Quatre felt the fear that had gripped him tight in the last few moments slowly fade away as he realized that these were fellow IRA soldiers.

They encircled him, patting him on the back and began the small talk that most Irishmen are famed for. They asked about the 'good sister and father of the church' and Quatre obliged them the response. He shook his head as the tense situation faded from memory and melded into comradeship.

"Did you like my owl call? Scares the British you know."

"It's great that the young are doing their part in this war. Everyone has to fight in these troubled times." Quatre agreed and sent up a silent prayer as he always did for Duo.

One of the younger soldiers finally asked him where he was off to alone in the middle of the night. Quatre couldn't say, even to them. This mission held a high security level.

An older gentleman slapped the young man on the shoulder and said, "Never you mind. I'm sure he has a place to be so we'll be on our way."

Quatre picked up his discarded rifle and replaced his ski mask, saying his goodbyes to the men.

His deadline was still going to be met, as long as he didn't cross paths with anyone again. He turned off of their path and melded into the darkness once again.

It was almost five o'clock in the morning when Quatre finally reached his destination. He was approximately fifteen miles from the Maxwell Orphanage and in a small village. There were still lights on in some houses and pubs, indicating that there was likely a strong paramilitary presence in the village. This area was renowned for its loyalty to the crown, and thus held many Ulster volunteers in the UDA. There was one member that needed taking out because of their political affiliations.

Quatre's back was pressed up against the brick of an old building, watching the action going on across the street. This pub was a major planning headquarters for the paramilitary, but only a few lights were on. Finally, the door opened and a figure left, walking away from both Quatre and the pub. He crossed the street silently, revolver ready in his hand. This was his target.

The person turned the corner and Quatre was right behind. When he was close enough he whistled and when the surprised person turned he fired one shot. Quatre lifted the face of his mask and quickly bent over the body to check vital signs but could find none. The mission was complete. He shivered as he looked at the lifeless figure in front of him.

The door next to him flung open and he stared upwards into the light. An older woman screamed at him and flung herself out of the doorway with a knife in her hands. This was probably the home his target was headed to.

Quatre pulled down the face of his mask and jumped out of the way as she sliced at him with the sharp kitchen knife.

He could hear running and yelling coming down the dark street towards them, no doubt the police on their way after hearing the gunshot.

As he sprinted down the street he could hear the old woman screaming, "murderer!" repeatedly as he left her clutching the dead body in her arms.

As he ran out of the village he felt a pain in his side. Packing the revolver into a pants pocket, Quatre removed the glove on his left hand and wiped at his side. His hand came up red and Quatre realized he must not have moved out of the woman's way fast enough. It wasn't too deep so he left it unbound and kept running through the trees.

Quatre didn't let the tears fall until he was outside the village and deep into the woods. They were soaked up by his cotton mask while Quatre realized that he just didn't want to kill anymore.

In the early morning hours at the orphanage, with all the children still asleep in their beds, Father Maxwell was awake and listening to the radio. The local news station was coming in over a crackling and buzzing old radio, but it would do. Father Maxwell's hands were resting on a Bible he always kept close as he prayed for Quatre and Duo's safe return.

The voice on the radio said, "A radical member of the Ulster Defense Association, Catherine Bloom, has been shot dead in the early morning hours. The organization claiming responsibility for the attack is the Irish Republican Army. Police in the area are staging a massive man-hunt in the area."

Father Maxwell clicked the radio off and busied himself making breakfast for the children.


	3. Chapter 2

To Win the Heart of a Rebel

Chapter Two:

**Two Weeks Earlier**

Duo was in a fully fledged panic as he revved the engine of his new pickup truck. He had stolen it from an old farmer just down the road from the orphanage. Leaving a note saying he would return it swiftly and fully intact he signed it 'Eireann go Brach' or 'Ireland Forever'. He hoped fervently that the man would recognize the old saying for what it was and refrain from calling the police-no matter how unofficial this IRA business was. Driving half way across the six counties at breakneck speeds was difficult enough let alone doing so in a stolen vehicle.

As he travelled down long windy roads his thoughts occupied his mind. He wondered if he would get there in time, and what he would do when he did get there. Solo was being housed in a well guarded British base and one lone man could hardly do much against their sheer numbers. His duffle bag full of explosives was on the floor of the cab, and his two loaded rifles were sitting on the sit next to him. His plan as of now was to drive nonstop until daybreak, which he estimated to be two hours away. That left only two hours to reach the base under cover of darkness and another six before his brother was to be executed.

Duo's hands clutched the steering wheel and shifter, desperately hoping he would get there in time.

As he drove through another anonymous town and was on his way past the town limits, Duo found himself stuck behind a car. The roads were too curvy for him to pass safely, and Duo's patience was running thin. It was still dark out, but when the driver's side window rolled down Duo caught a glimpse of an orange band wrapped around the driver's upper arm as a cigarette butt was thrown out.

Duo hissed. A Protestant murder gang.

A few minutes later the car pulled off the road into a field and stopped. Duo drove on past them and watched from his rear view mirror as they pulled a man out of the backseat and threw him to the ground. The green of the man's sweater and hat made clear by the car's headlights that they were about to kill a Catholic. He knew that these murder gangs didn't affiliate with any particular organization, but that they took a life for a life for every civilian that was killed. Granted, there were plenty of Catholic murder gangs in Northern Ireland that are a mirror image to what the Protestants are. For the gang to have taken this man meant that the Catholic murder gang had killed a Protestant man.

An eye for an eye.

Duo only had one mission, and that mission was to save Solo. He didn't have time to stop and help this stranger.

He eyed them as he drove, the headlights getting dimmer and dimmer the farther he pulled away from the scene.

And as he drove away he knew it wasn't what Solo would want.

The truck's tires screeched on the gravel as he pulled the truck over to rest on the side of the road. He slammed a fist down on the dashboard, then grabbed his already loaded rifle and an extra clip. He left the keys, his explosives bag and the other rifle in the truck-hoping they wouldn't be discovered as he backtracked to save some strangers life.

When he got there, he saw that the man was on his knees in front of the five, their orange bands bright in the night. He could hear the jibes coming from them, but wondered what kept the man silent. Anyone in that situation would be begging for their lives. They poked at him and one kicked him in the stomach hard enough that even Duo could hear a rib or two crack. He maneuvered behind them so that the body on the ground was between him and his targets. The man's hands were tied behind his back, and certainly had broken ribs but he heaved himself back up onto his knees anyway.

Duo scowled. One of the men stepped forward and raised his rifle up, automatically becoming Duo's first target. He brought his own rifle up to his shoulder and clicked the safety off. He had five shots for five men, and he hoped that nothing would go wrong. Leaning forward to help minimize the recoil, he listened to the men in front of him.

"Have fun at judgment day," the man sneered.

"Same to you," Duo whispered and pulled the trigger. His first shot was immediately followed by three more, and as he pulled the bolt back one last time, it jammed. Duo tried frantically to push the bolt forwards but it just wouldn't move.

The last enemy already had his rifle up and Duo found himself staring down the barrel of a loyalist's gun. He wondered if this is what Solo would feel like in just a few hours.

The young man in front of him heaved himself up off his knees and slammed bodily into his opponent.

The shot rang out through the night, and a body fell heavily to the ground.

When Duo awoke he was made aware of two things. One was that there was an excruciating pain in his right arm, the other that he was in someone else's home. He felt the comfortable bed under him, very much unlike the simple rough beds at the orphanage. Duo took in his surroundings and saw that he was in a quaint little home with low ceilings and sparse furniture. His mind was fuzzy when he tried to remember how he got there.

Duo started when a small Asian woman came in through the door of the room, holding a tray of medical supplies. Duo felt fear pull at him when he realized that she was coming for him. He tucked his knees under himself and tried to make himself as small as possible. A cough came from the doorway and Duo saw a man lounging against the wall, an amused expression on his face.

"Don't worry. She's only giving you something for the pain." The man gestured at Duo's bandaged arm.

Duo looked down at where she laid the supplies and then reluctantly let her unwind the bandages from his arm. Gauze was sticking to the wound that was obviously from a bullet.

"I got shot? I got fucking shot." Duo's face was one of scandal, as if he had thought he was bulletproof.

The man at the door chuckled as the woman kept up her medical attention.

"My name is Wufei. Do you remember anything that happened?" He crossed the room and came over to sit on the floor by the low bed. As he moved it was obvious that he favoured his ribs.

Duo tried his hardest to remember but it was like his mind was vacant. Slowly he remembered driving and then seeing a Protestant murder gang with...

Duo flung himself off the bed, screaming like a madman, his braid following him out the door.

Wufei got out of the way as he darted from the room. His gash was openly bleeding again, and the wrappings had all come undone.

Duo took no notice of this, realizing that he had missed the only chance of saving his brother from his execution. He ran through doorways and started ducking after he slammed his head on the first low hanging one. Duo took no notice of the throbbing pain in his head and the burn of his arm. He tore frantically into the small kitchen area and grabbed the newspaper that was stretched out over the kitchen table. On the front he took in the date, it was the fourth. Solo's execution had been scheduled for the third. He stared out the window with a sinking feeling and found that it was the evening.

Turning back to the newspaper, he located a section that spoke of how four incarcerated IRA members had been executed the day before. They had listed the names below a picture of the head British Intelligence building. Apparently British military Intel were taking credit for the apprehension of the four terrorists. Duo figured that they could now take the blame for it. All he could think about was vengeance.

His insides felt like they were burning, and he started gasping in air desperately.

Wufei was watching him hyperventilate. When Duo's body fell to the floor he was ready to run over and catch him. They both fell to the tiles, and Wufei held him- rocked him-until Duo finally passed out. Whether it was from pain or emotional stress he wasn't sure.

Wufei picked him up and brought him back into the bedroom and laid Duo carefully out onto the bed. He could see how reluctant his cousin was to touch her patient after that almost violent display but he gave her a sharp look and she continued. He watched over Duo as his cousin re-bandaged his arm, and then held the ice himself on the bump Duo had gotten on his way out the door.

Duo woke up the next day still exhausted and in pain. Wufei had stayed at his bedside for most of the night and this time Duo was in control of himself enough to ask the questions he himself couldn't find the answer to.

"Who the hell are you?" He winced. That probably wasn't the best way to start. "What I meant was..."

The man next to him just shushed him quiet again. His black hair went down to his shoulders and he was obviously from Asian descent. Duo watched as the man straightened out the pillows and pulled the blankets up around him. It was quite a while before he began to speak, but when he did the past few days started to make sense to Duo.

"My name is Wufei," he told him again, "I was walking down the street a few days ago, and I was taken by a group of men intent on killing me. I was wearing a green hat, a green sweater and was walking in the early morning through a very Catholic neighbourhood. When I walk I meditate, as is my normal custom. When they took me, they had figured I was a Catholic man, but in the car on the way to a field they realized when I spoke that I wasn't even Irish. After I told them I was atheist, they figured that I was as good as dead anyway, since that is almost worst than being Catholic. When we reached the field where they were going to kill me, a pickup truck drove by. I thought for sure the driver would stop, but he didn't. Just as they were about to kill me, four shots rang out from behind, and when I realized that another shot wasn't coming to kill the last man, I knocked him to the ground. His rifle went off and the bullet hit your arm, but we were both alive."

Duo groaned.

All that work and it wasn't even for the cause.

"What happened to the last guy, the one you knocked to the ground?" Duo's mouth was dry and it made it difficult to speak. Wufei left for a moment and came back with a glass of water. He tipped Duo's head up and helped him drink.

"I killed him with his own rifle. After that I freed myself from my bonds and decided that taking you to a hospital was not an option. I brought you to my cousin's home and she cared for your wound."

Duo sat up slowly and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Well, that's just great, but I'll be on my way now. I've got some shit to do. Tell your cousin that I said thanks a bunch."

Wufei's eyes narrowed as Duo found his clothing by the side of the bed and proceeded to get dressed. He really was going to leave.

"I owe you my life. I need to repay you. It is my custom."

Duo snorted, his head half in and half out of his shirt. "Look buddy, I'm into some serious shit, and that shit is most likely gonna kill me before the month is out, alright?" His arm was still stinging, fucking Protestant bastards.

When he finally got his head into his shirt, he looked over to Wufei-who was holding up a duffle bag. He froze.

His duffle bag.

As far as he knew that was in the truck he left on the side of the road.

"Where did you get that?" Duo didn't move as he realized that this man now knew exactly what his job was. That bag was full of parts for explosives.

"How do you think I got you here? I could've used their car but I wasn't too keen on getting back inside it. So I figured you hadn't walked there and looked for your vehicle. I found out that the driver of the pickup truck did stop for me. As I said before, I owe you my life and need to repay you."

Both Wufei and Duo's attitudes clashed in that small room with the low ceiling. Duo was unsure of what to do about the situation. Anyone who had found out in the past what he was he had killed. This was an interesting predicament he found himself in. Duo decided to ditch the guy and get the hell out of there before he did anything rash.

"Listen man, I told you that I have shit to do. Irishmen are getting killed with no repercussions and I can't just sit back and let that happen." Duo had a noticeable gleam in his eye as he finished getting dressed, ignoring the pain that shot up his arm.

Wufei threw the bag onto the bed and said, "Then take me with you."

Duo shook his head. There was no getting rid of this guy. Hell, if one more person wanted to join the cause and die for it, who was he to say no?

"It's your funeral, buddy. I'm Duo Maxwell, welcome to the team."

Wufei nodded, glad that he would get his chance to serve his debt to him. "Chang Wufei."

As Wufei started to pack a small bag to take with him, he asked, "Where to first?"

Duo smiled.

"The British Intelligence building in Dublin."


	4. Chapter 3

To Win the Heart of a Rebel

Chapter Three:

It was October the 19th, 1972 and Quatre Winner was curled up in the soft hay of some farmer's barn. His wound was worse than first thought and he was forced to find cover until nightfall. The early morning attack on Catherine Bloom had stripped a lot of his energy, both physically and emotionally. Quatre figured that he just wasn't made to kill, no matter the circumstance.

When he had been switched from messenger to field soldier Quatre had been ecstatic. He had a chance to show his superiors just how well he could do the job. Granted, he was a damned fine soldier physically and could manage every obstacle he had ever come across so the only setback to being a great soldier was his reluctance to killing.

The attack on Catherine Bloom had been the first time he watched his target die. The other attacks he had been involved in normally called for a remote controlled detonator and a far distance between him and the victims. It was a very different concept to watch as the life left a human being. When Quatre had stumbled into the barn he found the biggest pile of straw and covered the majority of his body in it and cried long into the morning about it.

Unfortunately the time when a barn is most occupied with humans is the daytime, so he had to relocate to the very far corner of the barn and away from the door. He hoped the darkness would hide him from sight. So far the door had been opened twice, both times a horse was saddled and led outside and the door was closed again. The hay he sat in was warm but Quatre knew that if he fell asleep there was a likely chance he would be discovered. Quatre was holding clean straw against his side because it was the only available material for the steady stream of blood coming from his wound.

Having ditched his rifle on the run he tried to cover as much ground as possible since he knew there was a manhunt going on. He was also aware that the police were not the ones to be afraid of. Since he had killed a member of the UDA it was almost guaranteed that the entirety of the organization was out searching for him and that left him wary of everyone. Quatre knew he was somewhere around eight kilometers from the orphanage with a bleeding wound that needed prompt medical attention. In a tactical sense Quatre knew he had a very small percentage of making it back alive with the search parties and even if he did manage to make it back surviving the blood loss was a whole different matter.

He was still dressed head to toe in his black uniform for cover but was now a surprising contrast to the golden straw around him. The tactical side of Quatre's brain told him that it was stupid to lay there any longer and the more time wasted bleeding here meant the longer it would take for him to get help.

Quatre fumbled in the straw, pushing it aside and climbing to his feet. The front door of the barn was the only possible exit and Quatre cursed his bad Irish luck but shuffled toward the door anyway. The wooden door was rough against Quatre's hands as he tested how much weight he would need to put on it to make it move quietly. He was sweating profusely and alternated between chills and an intense hot pain in his side. Quatre pulled off his face mask and shoved it in another pocket on the opposite side of where he had shoved his revolver.

As he pushed the door open he slipped out the small opening and surveyed the yard in front of him. The white house was just across the dirt drive and as Quatre turned to shut the door he heard another door open and heavy footsteps. He turned and blinked in the harsh light, leaning his weight on the door and looked behind him at a tall man holding a hunting rifle on the front step of the wrap-around porch. Quatre's black uniform stood out in the sunshine against the bright red of the wooden barn. The man was obviously the owner of the farm and Quatre had no idea if the man would shoot him on sight for trespassing or take him in. Neither of which was good for him.

"You're not a thief so I suspect you're that fellow the UDA are lookin' so hard for." Sweat ran down Quatre's face as he tried to ignore a shooting pain and attempted to stand his ground under the weight of being captured by a civilian.

The man grunted and turned to go back inside the house, motioning for Quatre to follow. "You don't have to worry here, we were just sitting down to dinner. Come on in." The farmer crossed the porch and opened the door to the house, leaving Quatre alone in the yard.

Quatre was concentrating on the benefits of running back into the woods, wondering if the farmer would come out and shoot him if he did. Then again the offer was a great one. Food was something Quatre knew he needed if he was to make it home and they could have a first aid kit in the house. Making up his mind Quatre slowly crept across the dirt walk and up the steps to the door the farmer left open as an invitation. His laboured breathing and flushed face made Quatre pause just inside the door, taking note of the rifle that sat beside multiple sets of footwear. There was a modest country kitchen to his right and there the farmer and his wife and two young sons sat at a fully laden table. There was an extra place set closest to Quatre and the farmer motioned for him to come in.

Quatre knew that he wouldn't be able to take his shoes off so he walked in and pulled out the chair, timidly sitting down. The farmer filled his plate and handed it to back to Quatre as he proceeded to say grace. He couldn't tell what religion this family was but assumed they were Catholic since they were helping a known IRA soldier. The young boys watched the stranger sitting at their table with interest as Quatre said amen and slowly ate his food. After he couldn't stomach more he set his fork down and placed both hands onto the table staining the crisp white tablecloth red with blood.

The silent wife now voiced her concern over the soldier.

"Are you injured?"

Quatre nodded and motioned to his wound. She shook her head and left the table, the meal forgotten, and led him upstairs to one of the many rooms of the farmhouse. The boys followed them up the stairs at a run but waited in the hall, their heads poking through the door when they braved a look inside. Their mother had cut off Quatre's shirt as their father brushed past them with a basin of water and a set of clean white sheets.

She went to work cutting them into long strips and cleaned Quatre's flaming red wound with the soft edges of linen. As Quatre closed his eyes in a fatigue caused sleep he entrusted his life to these two kind souls.

Hours later Quatre awoke to the sounds of booted feet running up the stairs. The farmer's wife was in the room cleaning up the various bloody sheets and basin that she had used to clean his wound, and binding it tight to stop the bleeding. She knew he needed stitches and a hospital visit before he could really start to get better.

Her husband ran into the room and breathlessly said, "There are members of the UDA outside, Rose. We need to get the boys downstairs and away from this room." Here he turned to Quatre and said, "You stay here and stay silent while we try and get rid of them."

As they left Quatre alone in the room he laid there bare chest, fingering the white bandages wrapped tightly around his side. If the UDA were outside than it meant this was a Catholic household and they suspected them enough to house an IRA soldier. Or it was possible that they had followed his trail to the house. He felt a sinking feeling when he realized that he put the entire family in danger by his very presence in the house. It was too late now, he could hear voices in the entryway at the bottom of the stairs.

He fingered the revolver that still rested in his pants pocket and wondered if he shot himself if the family would still be charged for housing him. In most cases he figured having him dead or alive it wouldn't really matter to the enemy as long as he was in the house. He sighed. He could always keep the revolver out in case they did come searching and shoot the first person that came through the door.

Quatre felt a sick feeling and almost retched. He was back to that psychological barrier that shed him away from killing. He calmed himself with the rationale that there were children and innocents in the house so he could not justify the use of his firearm.

If they came through that door then so be it.

The voices got louder and one of the children cried out in fear and he could hear a shuffle of feet. Quatre gasped as he tried to sit upright, fully intending to leave the room and give himself up to save the family. He heard boots climbing the stairs at a slow pace and Quatre figured it was all over and the enemy had found him.

The door cracked open and Quatre unconsciously backed closer to the wall, hands grasping the sheets in a new found fear as he caught a glimpse of a silver revolver. The door creaked open and Quatre found himself staring wide-eyed at a tall man dressed in the green uniform of the UDA. His brown hair fell over one side of his face and fully covered one eye but the deep green of his visible eye made up for the lack of the other. His gaze was very intense as he took a step forward and Quatre winced away from him.

The soldier took in the bloody basin and sheets in the room and Quatre's bare chest, the blood had seeped through the new bandages. When he spoke Quatre expected yelling or cruelty in his voice, but it somehow calmed Quatre.

"Weapons?"

Quatre nodded and the soldier motioned for him to reveal it. He slowly stuck his hand into his pocket and drew out the revolver handle first and set it on the dresser beside the bloody basin. He had to try and save the family.

"Please, it wasn't the family's fault at all. I threatened that if they didn't help me I would kill the children." Quatre lied for the first time in his life.

The man watched the pale faced and small framed young man on the bed and Quatre couldn't help but be afraid for his own life. Now that they had him they would take him back to their own headquarters and question him, likely violently, for information. Quatre would try his hardest not to say anything but since he had never gone through it before he wasn't too sure if the thought of keeping the orphanage secure could get him through all that pain.

"Get up."

Quatre swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up with one hand. The blood loss made him lightheaded as he moved and his blue eyes rolled to the back of his head as he slumped forwards headed for the floorboards.

The revolver still sat on the bedside table and Quatre's hands were grasping the warm figure on the floor in front of him as he cried out in pain. The man had caught him as he fell from the bed and now held him in his arms on the floor of the room. Quatre felt secure even though he knew that the man's very presence spelt out death for him. He was lifted into the air easily as the man stood, his own revolver in his left hand. Quatre weakly brought up one arm to slip around his neck. He went from warm to cold as the man stepped outside the room and carried him down the stairs. There was another soldier standing in the entryway beside the family and Quatre could see their apologetic faces as they stood silently.

"Thank you so much for your care, you're a true Catholic family and I thank you for it." His voice was a near whisper.

The farmer raised an eyebrow and said, "We're Protestant loyalist's young man. We just couldn't sit around and watch as another human being suffered. I'm sorry that they caught up to you."

One of the children waved goodbye and said, "Bye soldier! We'll miss you lots and lots!," as his mother tried futilely to hush him.

Quatre was speechless from the revelation of their religion but the soldier didn't give him a chance to say any more as the door was opened and he was brought out into the cold air. As the soldiers conversed the other was told to go upstairs to collect his revolver from the desk and then meet them in the car.

There was a nondescript black car sitting in the drive and Quatre was gasping with every step they took towards it. As he was laid out into the backseat he hugged his midsection and moaned in pain. The soldier climbed into the backseat with him holding him close as Quatre laid out on the backseat. Quatre shivered in the fall air as the soldier wrapped his arms around his shoulders holding him in place as they waited for the other soldier and then as they drove out of the yard.

The driver glanced back at them and asked, "So, are we headed back to HQ, sir?"

The voice of his soldier calmed Quatre's shivering body almost immediately as he responded, "No."

The drivers face was questioning as he wondered what his superior was planning.

"He shot my sister. I want time with him alone before we turn him over."

The driver nodded at his logic.

Quatre's heart sank as the words hit him and he realized that he was completely and utterly at this man's mercy. He wondered how he would feel if it was his brother killed, albiet not blood related but brother in spirit, and realized that Solo had already been shot and Duo was missing since.

Quatre clutched his hands around the strong arms that kept him in place laid out in the backseat of a UDA vehicle and cried silently for miles as they drove.

Maybe if he could just hold on he could right the wrongs already done.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

Duo laid out prone on the top of a four story building with his stomach pressed against the cold flat rooftop. He held a small black device in his left hand while he kept his body hidden and an eye on the street below. A figure walked out of an alley along side a red brick building and Duo kept a keen eye on his movements. The dark hair under a faded blue ball cap and the way the man's body moved made Duo sure that it was Wufei. Over the past few weeks Wufei had proved himself an essential asset on many raids Duo conducted in Dublin and in other areas as well.

The Asian man was someone who poured his whole self into his work and had proved to Duo over and over that he would do almost anything for the cause. At first Duo had taken Wufei with him as a quick way to get rid of him while leaving no one behind who could alert the authorities. However, Wufei proved himself loyal countless times in the past weeks and any thoughts of ditching him had now left Duo's mind completely. The braided man couldn't fathom how he'd made it without his help.

Now he watched as Wufei darted around people as he made a path away from the red building. Duo licked his lips and groaned as his body was tingling, falling asleep from a lack of movement. As he shifted his weight he saw that Wufei was still inside the blast zone they set up earlier but was steadily creating distance between himself and the bomb. Duo took the moment to check out Wufei's lithe body while he had the chance.

A few days before this Duo had sat with Wufei talking about the reasons why they did what they did. Wufei had sat and listened attentively to Duo's many reasons. He listened as Duo finally filled him in on the full circumstances of their meeting, why his brother had been arrested and what his future plans were. When Duo asked Wufei why he helped him Wufei had answered swiftly and in a dry voice stated, "I do it because I get to be with you."

Wufei's declaration had ended the conversation because both young men were not ready to express anything more than that. Duo knew he felt an attraction to him but was sure that he was headed for a firing squad or something worse during this conflict. He didn't want to feel anything that he might miss later on and being a soldier made his life not his own.

The detonator in his hand went green and Duo's blood drained from his face. He felt a stab of panic as he realized that the bomb was going off prematurely. He heaved his cold body upwards, giving up his position for anyone to see. His throat burned as he yelled, "Wufei! Get down!"

Duo caught sight of Wufei ducking down, effectively putting a car between himself and the blast. Yellow fire and light and heat lit the air as Duo stood tall on the rooftop, heat hitting his face as he made sure his partner was safe. The previous bombs the two had set went off without a hitch and something, likely a malfunction, screwed this whole mission up. Normally Duo and Wufei waited until the majority of pedestrians were off the streets and out of the zone, taking out only the targeted people or buildings.

From his viewpoint he saw the aftermath of the blast laid out before him, cars were in flames and the one side of the building was crumbling down, crushing anyone inside. He heard sirens and screams as people died and he looked down at the detonator in his hands. He was a killer, a cold blooded killer.

'If Solo could see me now.'

Steady blue eyes watched him from below but Duo was too preoccupied to notice.

Duo eyed the car that Wufei had ducked behind, wondering why he hadn't gotten up yet and making his getaway. The people were milling around wailing and the sirens were getting louder and Wufei was just not getting up.

Duo let out a sob that later he would never admit to, and flung himself down the fire escape closest to his self-proclaimed fire team partner. He barely remembered the tinging of his booted feet on the steel and rusted fire escape. He crossed the busy road, dodging an ambulance and jumped around the side of the car onto the sidewalk. The front of the car's paint was peeling and burnt from the heat of the blast.

There Wufei lay on the sidewalk, unmoving.

Duo gasped in a deep breath of cold air as he moved next to him and pressed two fingers under his chin. A steady pulse beat under his fingers and Duo would've let out a whoop of joy had they been in different circumstances. Wufei's hat had flown off and his pale face was somber and steady. Duo felt down his body trying to see if there were major injuries to his partner. Turning him over slowly Duo realized that Wufei had burns running down his leg from the knee to his ankle, his heavy shoe protecting his foot. The fire from the blast hadn't hit him, but the heat had seared through at least one layer of skin, leaving it red and bloody.

Duo had two options. Taking Wufei to the paramedics for treatment or running away from there as fast as he could. The soldier in him focused on the mission they had completed and the need for a soldier to live to fight another day. The deeply rooted compassion for the young man before him made it impossible to follow through with leaving him there, helpless.

He grasped onto Wufei's torso and hauled him up. Wufei's eyes fluttered open and he looked disoriented for a moment before he tried to steady himself upright. Duo looked him over and said, "Can you walk?"

Wufei nodded and they started off towards the edge of town where they could lose themselves in the blanket of cover the forest offered. He hissed in pain as the material of his pant leg pulled at the open wound.

Duo clutched Wufei to him close, tracking the distance they covered and stayed on the side streets where they were less likely to be seen. This was a pivotal moment in their lives, their evasion tactics needed to work, had to work or they were both dead men.

They made it away uncontested as night started to fall over the city of Dublin. The people there wouldn't sleep well tonight and the cleanup was still ongoing in the blast area. Duo knew that a few people had seen them leave the city but relied on the strong Irish ties in the city to keep them from calling the police.

Duo led his wounded partner along the border of a field just along farmer's fence only kilometres from the edge of the city. He knew that Wufei needed to stop soon and neither could last much longer at the pace they were going. Duo found a small nook in a stone fence some farmer had put up dividing the border of his land from another. He let go of Wufei and crawled over, sitting down with his back against the cold stone, motioning for Wufei to join him. Wufei lay down beside him and Duo cradled his head in his lap, letting Wufei's legs stretch out in the brown grass beside them.

Duo closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stone, gasping in much needed air.

"I fucked up."

Wufei lifted his head up from where it was pillowed on Duo's thighs and looked at him quizzically.

"Duo, what are you talking about?"

Duo shook his head violently and the breath he let out was frozen by the cold and you could see it in the air as he desperately tried to explain.

"I fucked up. I made the bomb wrong or something. It malfunctioned. I didn't even push the detonator and she went off anyway." His voice was raspy and Wufei rested his head again and sighed.

"You can't blame yourself for a misguided accident. It could happen anytime and was probably bound to happen to us at one time or another. We've set so many bombs already it was a wonder this did not occur earlier." Wufei stared up into deep violet eyes as Duo twirled the end of his braid in his fingers. Duo's expression was pained.

Wufei shook his head tiredly and decided to let it be until they were out of this mess and could properly deal with the trauma they had experienced. The cold was seeping into their skin now that they were unmoving and shortly Wufei began to shiver. He was so fatigued from the events of the day, the blast and then the getaway that he fell into a deep sleep.

Duo stared out across the dark fields and hummed an old song from the orphanage, holding Wufei's head in his lap. The fingers of one hand ran through the silky black hair and the other caressed Wufei's chin. His young partner was in a dead sleep anyway so Duo took the liberty of touching his fellow soldier.

The cold was getting deeper now that the sun was fully down and the stars were twinkling high in the sky leaving Duo to feel like they were the only two people left in the universe.

Unbeknownst to him there was a set of blue eyes watching their every move. The figure watched as Duo's body started to shiver and shake by midnight and watched as he shrugged out of his heavy wool jacket and placed it over the body in front of him.

Wufei stirred and Duo's frozen hands were still tangled in his hair. Duo's lips were starting to turn a light shade of blue as he tucked the jacket tightly around Wufei's body.

Wufei opened his eyes slightly and cleared his throat. He seemed a little delirious from the pain of his wound or the cold and Duo bent in close to hear him say, "Why didn't you run and leave me?"

Duo closed his eyes and whispered, "Because I get to be with you."

Duo was relieved when Wufei nodded, seeming happy with his response. Wufei promptly fell back into a fatigue induced sleep and Duo bent in close, cold blue lips just touching Wufei's pink-tinged warm ones.

He slumped over Wufei, his head resting on his partner's chest as he burrowed his cold face into the wool. If Wufei made it out of this alive then it was worth it for him. It was slowly growing on one in the morning when Duo passed out from the cold and fatigue.

The blue eyes watching saw the event transpire and the body of the soldier was kept warm by the feeling that was blossoming in his chest. It felt as if there was something picking away the ice around his heart and Heero Yuy couldn't let them die like that.

He pulled out his military issued field pack and pulled out a foil from his winter kit. His duties had been upped to recon and direct infantry duties and he had been near the blast site when these IRA soldiers detonated the bomb. He had watched as the braided man stood upright on the rooftop, his face a mask of sheer worry for his partner.

Shortly afterwards Heero had been assigned the task of retrieving the two suspected IRA members and bring them back into town. The British were not officially staging an operation to retrieve the two since the majority of the Dublin population was diehard Irish republicans. That left Heero to seek the enemy quietly. His orders were to retrieve the soldiers but after watching them he felt warmth in his chest he had never felt before. He also knew that he was still a soldier and a soldier first and foremost.

His mission must succeed.

He stretched out the foil blanket and approached the two. He checked them both for weapons and placed them in a large pile away from the two soldiers. He wrapped the blankets around them and then built a fire. Likely the reason they didn't risk a fire was in fear of a team finding them.

They didn't have to worry about that now that he'd already found them.

As the fire built up and time passed pink colour started to slowly return to both their faces. The braided one had given up his own wool coat for his comrade knowing it would lead to his death.

Heero stoked up the fire and waited for it to revitalize the duo, not knowing what to do with them when they


End file.
